RIDDLEBOOK
by Caisele
Summary: Riddlebook: ‘Every babe is pure of birth ‘tis the evils of the world that doth corrupt them.’ What, then, corrupted the young Tom Riddle? Short story. Five parts. Awesome. READ ME!
1. Tom

**RIDDLEBOOK**

**WARNING:**

**Contains some mature content. Reader's discretion is advised.**

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**TOM**

Alone, cold and lamenting, I sat, with the book upon my lap. It was thick and bound in snakeskin, fastened with a clasp of what I suspect to be real gold. It was sealed with magic. My future, and possibly my life were dependent on the contents of this book. I needed to open it. Candlelight flared briefly to my left – the signal.

I carefully slid the book into my bag. The light flared once again. I furrowed my brows in annoyance. Verrine, the impatient imbecile – I'll make sure to reprimand him thoroughly. The idiot doesn't deserve to serve me.

I stood slowly and made for the door.

"Tom."

I turned.

"What are you doing here, Tom?" Dumbledore's specs caught the needle-like beam of moonlight that stole though a gap in the library's window. His gnarled hands lay still upon the shoulders of the whimpering Verrine and the statue-still Rosier.

"To retrieve a book for an Arithmancy assignment, sir." I lied silkily. "Here is the note from Professor Purson – I forgot to come during the day, and I need the book tonight. I'm sorry, sir. Won't happen again."

Dumbledore said nothing. He lifted his hand off Rosier and extended it towards me. I gave him my bag. Verrine caught my eye. I glared coldly back. He failed me. He shall pay.

Dumbledore opened the bag. His hand reached in. I looked at Rosier. His lips were pursed in anxiety. I locked my eyes to his and opened a channel through Legimency. The face of Angus Filch scowled at me. I blinked. The face was gone. I smirked ever so slightly and shook my head at Rosier. No need to worry, there'll be no detention for us tonight.

Dumbledore withdrew his hand. In it he clutched a thin papyrus-made volume. Rosier let out a breath of relief. Dumbledore glanced at the dark letters of the title. There was a short pause. "Very well, Tom. If this would be the first and last time, my eyes shall wink to the deeds of you hands."

I bowed my head lightly, "Thank you, sir." I glanced at Rosier; he met my eye. We turned and left together, leaving Verrine scuffling behind.

Outside the library Mulciber and Nott stood waiting. They stepped out from the shadows as we approached. Nott motioned down the corridor, "No one came this way – oh…" He caught sight of Verrine behind us. Mulciber snorted, "What did he do this time, my _Lord_?"

Rosier answered him for me. "He let the signal on too long, flashed it twice too. Ol' Dumbly came running in." Mulciber snickered. We walked on.

At the end of the corridor, a sinewy figure stepped in front of us. Beside me, Rosier jumped. Phenex grinned back at us. "I smell the lecherous scent of success!" He exclaimed in his telltale singsong voice. Nott nodded at him, then turned to me. "Dolohov should be around the corner, with Asael."

Rosier perked up. "Asael? I thought he was still in detention."

Nott shook his head. "No, he got out a little more than an hour ago. Filch used the stipples on him," He smirked and continued. "Says we need a new scapegoat, 'cause he doesn't want to do it anymore."

I scowled. "He'll do what I tell him," I paused and glanced back at Verrine, who stiffened, "…but, as for now, Verrine can take his place."

Mulciber and Rosier glanced back at him and sneered. I kept my head straight and kept walking. Idiots, all of them, dishonest and untrustworthy fools.

000

Mrs. Cole never liked me, her attendants even less so. As I search through my memories now I can remember a certain Ms. Newt, with her thick-framed glasses and ill-fitting suits. She was the worst of the lot, a bit on the sadistic side. She used to slap me with the back of her hand every time I pass her by. I couldn't have been more than a toddler at the time.

The orphanage was scantily funded. With a little over forty children in residence, it always ran short of something. For most of my early years, that _something_ was powdered milk. I was no longer a babe, and so I didn't rely on it, I shudder to think I had ever relied on anything.

The attendants would give the cups of lukewarm milk to their favorite child. I was no one's favorite. I rarely got a cup. The feeling of inferiority made me withdrawn. I would sit by myself, on the courtyard's ledges, glaring darkly at the other children.

Mrs. Cole pitied me. She always spoke of it, but never acted on it. Not that I needed her pity. In my lonesome childhood I was taught the hard way to rely on myself. When Billy Jones threw a rock at my head, no one came to help. I got a bandage from the medicine cabinet by myself. When Clara Langston blamed me for the stolen cookies, no one came to my defense. I talked myself out. When Ms. Newt whipped my backside raw for drawing a picture of her with a knife in her head, no one stopped her. They watched and laughed.

I couldn't have been more than five at the time.

000

Transfiguration was a bore. When everyone else struggled to scribble down notes, I doodled. Head down, quill scratching, parchment darkening, I fooled them all. On my lap sat the snake-skinned volume. I scrutinized it.

Restricted section or not, if it was from the school library then it is considered appropriate for the students to read. The magicked seal must be a trick. There must be another way to open it. It's logic.

The golden clasp stretched from the back of the volume to the front. A small bulb held it down – a red herring, it must be. A thought struck me. With the experienced shift and tip of my legs, I flipped the book onto its front. Ah, there, the square clasp's frame. I bent my head lower and examined the place where the clasp was attached to the back cover.

It wasn't glued.

It wasn't sewn.

It's the clasp's opening.

I glanced up, making sure no one was looking, I feigned dropping my quill and bent down beneath the desk. With nimble fingers I grappled the back of the clasp from where it was attached to the back cover and pulled. With a click that sounded to me like the deafening roar of raging thunder, the clasp opened. I peeked over the desktop. No one else heard. Good.

I picked up my quill and sat back down in my seat. I was just in time for the end-of-class shuffle. I dropped the opened volume into my book bag in glee and headed out the door. Professor Slughorn stood waiting there. The betraying grin on his face sent my stomach lurching long before he slapped the violet and lavender invitation into my hand.

"No excuses, my boy!" He patted my shoulder excitedly. "I come to personally deliver this to you, so don't let me down! You are not only expected, you are obligated to attend. And remember," Slughorn dropped his voice into a murmur, "my little parties are _nothing_ without my Golden Boy." He patted me one last time and with a swirl of aromatic perfume, he was down the hall.

I turned over the invitation in my hand. A Roman Masquerade: _costumes mandatory_. Where do I find masquerade costumes in the middle of a school week?

I looked up in time to spot Rosier hurrying towards me. He clutched an invitation in his hand. "Are you going, my Lord?" He asked hasty whisper. I gave a curt nod of my head. He sighed in response. We passed through the crowded hall with ease. Like Moses parted the Red Sea, Rosier and I parted the numb-minded students, ogling as we passed. I looked to my left and a cluster of fifth years girls erupted into a giggling fit. Foolish things. Who do they think they are that I would ever take attention to them? I smiled anyways. The Headmaster was watching.

Rosier straightened his tie and smoothed out his robes beside me. My lips curled. His vanity irked me. What is appearance when it's fake? Rosier may be a well-created male specimen on the outside, but his jealous nature and fraudulent tendencies makes him ugly.

Beauty doth shine dim when stood next to the blackened mind.

000

The feeling of inadequacy worsened as I grew older. I learnt to appear distant and aloof to avoid unwanted attention. The orphanage's hired attendants were all feeble and cowardly. They were scapegoats of their society, low class and filthy. I was a child. I was younger and weaker. I was, we were, the only souls vulnerable to them.

Ms. MacKay was another one. She was obese, blonde and unsightly. She came to help in the orphanage four times a week. She volunteered to supervise our baths and beds. She set the curfew and she checked up on us in regularly during the night.

I loathed her. Nevertheless, she liked me – in a way no one else knew of or understood.

She first took notice of Kevin Stroker.

She moved his bed to the back corner of the boys' room. She would always check up on him last. She stood closest to him when we take our baths. And she always helped him towel dry. It was by the twisted hands of fate that I slept in the bunk next to his. I was the only one who was aware of the goings-on.

Ms. MacKay took interest in me next.

I was skinny and tall for my age. I had black hair and intelligent dark eyes. She recognized the splendor in those eyes, but she missed the foreshadowed prowess.

She didn't waste time on the trivial formalities like she did with Stroker. She came into the boys' room, saw everyone to bed, and to my surprise, checked up upon Stroker before she checked up on me. I had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach as I guessed what was coming next. I had unknowingly admitted defeat. I was going to imitate Stroker and play dead. I laid stock-still and readied myself to let what should come come.

But I wasn't at all prepared when it did come. I stiffened when she approached. I sweated when she sat down at the foot of my bed. I closed my eyes and willed myself not to cry as she lifted my covers. I was still as she moved her hands up my legs. I was still when she felt me. I was still when she removed my trousers. I was still when she kissed me. But I wept when she fondled me. I was still weeping after she pulled up my trousers and replaced my covers.

I felt disgusting. From that day forth I hated my body. I refused to let it represent me.

The next day, Ms. MacKay took me away from the courtyard during playtime, and led me to the bathroom. She told me I was dirty and that I needed to take a bath. She removed my shoes and trousers and kissed me. My knees gave away and I fell onto the tiled floor. Ms. MacKay's head bobbled in and out of my line of vision.

When my head crashed onto the floor, I felt as if I had just been snapped out of a trance. A paroxysm overtook me. Blinded by the sudden surge of anger, I lashed out. I was told that Ms. MacKay lost her sight for the next three weeks and livid hives broke out in all over her body. Ms. Newt left me alone after that.

I knew, deep in my heart, that it was I who unleashed this horror on Ms. MacKay. I knew I was special. Yet the discovery of this power made me angry with myself. I hated me for not defending myself on that first night. I despised defeat – it was an ignoble act, and I refused to give into it again.

000

_From forth the pentacle erupts the summoned entity, enveloping the incensed air with its demonic presence. Its scent of power frequently devastates the conjuror, making him break his protection bonds, and thus bringing him to his defeat._

The snakeskin bound volume lay open on the bed, beside the opened package of a royal purple rimmed toga and a glittering butterfly mask – compliments of Professor Slughorn. I lay on my stomach, reading.

The title-less book contained the exact methods of Gothic demon conjurations. It was awesomely fascinating. I would be even more engrossed in the reading if Asael hadn't been pacing in and out of my periscopical vision.

"_What_?" I snapped, looking up. Asael's grin trembled. "I'm sorry, my Lord, but I was wondering…when am I allowed to leave? I have a charms essay due."

I mutter a short, two-syllable word. In the next minute Asael was withering and squealing on the ground. He reminded me of the squirrels in the orphanage's play yard.

Dolohov, who was sitting on his bed beside mine, looked at me, eyes wide. I sneered at him. "Wandless magic – you should learn some."

Dolohov opened his mouth, decided for the better, and closed it. He barely managed a weak grin.

The spell's effects subsided and Asael sat up, whimpering. I sent him a whipping glare. He flinched. "Fetch Verrine and Phenex." I told him.

Asael nodded palely and turned on his heels. He was out the door in the blink of an eye, not that I saw or cared. I was indulged in the book again.

_Many demons graced our realm by their ascension. Amongst the recorded, there were Chobaliel, Hosampsich, Antares, Grendel, Baraqel, and their King, Mephostophiles._

Mephostophiles…_their King_. The name intrigued me.

Footsteps snapped me out of my thoughts. Verrine and Phenex now stood before me with Asael slouching behind them. I ignored them, toying with an idea. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dolohov motion at Verrine to be quiet – an impatient idiot, that Verrine was. I looked up at him, still thinking.

Finally I quietly said, "There is a Hogsmeade weekend coming up next month. _I _will be taking a detour to elsewhere. You two," I glared at Verrine and Phenex, "are to help Mulciber come up with a cover. Old Dumbledore's keeping his eyes sharp these days, so be subtle, and _don't _mess this up."

I heard Phenex gulp and Dolohov sigh of relief. Asael collapsed onto the bed behind him, glad to have nothing to do with this expedition. But I had other plans in mind. Asael's relief irked me. Now I was tempted to include him. I thought fast. "On second thought…instead of Verrine, make it Asael. That way if you idiots do mess up, there's someone to take the blame."

I allowed myself a satisfied grin as Asael shot up from the bed in surprise and fright.

000

With four pockets full of heavy gold coins I walked along the crooked lanes of Diagon Alley. My first and foremost priority was my wand. The only wand maker I could find was Ollivanders. The shop's dust and disorder repulsed me, but I entered anyways.

Mr. Ollivander asked my name. I answered him carefully and cautiously. It would do me no good saying too much. He peered into my eyes and nodded. His eyes glazed over as he returned to the shelves, picking out my wand. I told him that I wanted the most powerful wand he had, and I wanted it to be sturdy and long lasting.

Mr. Ollivander remained silent to my demands. After ten full minutes of shuffling, he placed a thin, long box on the counter.

I didn't waste any money on foods and drinks that afternoon. My excitement and curiosity fueled me. I carefully observed the witches and wizards who passed me by in the streets. They were of all different sizes and shapes. Some strutted with an air of conceitedness, others hung their head and their eyes bore holes into the cobblestone ground.

Intriguingly, the Alley's atmosphere straightened my back and held up my head. I felt an impossible wave of confidence and belonging. I knew, right then and there, that I was no only become one of them, I was going to become the greatest of them all.

By the time I boarded the Hogwarts Express, I could perform half the spells in my Charms textbook.

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**A/N:**

I haven't quite finished it yet. It's standing at fourteen pages right now even though it is a short story. I had to split it into five parts. The last part is coming soon.

Review please.

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	2. Demon King

**RIDDLEBOOK  
**

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**WARNING:**

**Contains some mature content. Reader's discretion is advised.**

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**DEMON KING**

_Mephostophiles otherwise known as Mephisto: Demon of the first sphere. Known by the Greeks as the jinni of knowledge and erudition. First summoned by German wizard Faust._

That wasn't the least bit helpful. But my intuition's inquiry has been answered. This demon, Mephostophiles, is a creature worth looking into: the jinni of knowledge and erudition…what I wouldn't give to attain what it has.

Faust_…and I have a lead._

000

Hogwarts was, and still is, my sanctuary, my refuge, my savior. I clearly remember that first night, under the star sprinkled sky, as we waited to be sorted. Michaels, Morin, Mulciber, Nott, Owen, Penny, Pinot, Regent…

"Riddle, Tom."

My name, my father's name - the father who abandoned his pregnant wife, and me, his son. I was doubtful that he knew of my existence, yet I carry his name. His presence loomed over me wherever I go, what ever I do.

"Riddle, Tom!"

I stood still. Up on the High Table, that elderly wizard with the long beard, Dumbledore, eyed me with an unreadable expression. I trudged forward reluctantly and sat upon the stool. The Sorting Hat whispered nothing in my ear. I didn't even feel it touch my head. Yet…"_SLYTHERIN_!" it screamed.

The House name was strangely warming to me. I felt oddly satisfied.

I don't remember walking over to the House table. But I remember the smiles of congratulations and the shy, appraising glances. For the first time in my life, I felt at home.

I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't sleep. The whispering walls hissed too loudly in my attentive and naked ears. _Return to me_, it said, _I am your servant._ I first thought it was just my imagination, but by the second night, I knew it wasn't at all.

"How do you sleep with that horrible hissing everywhere?" I asked the sandy haired boy named Nott. He looked at me blankly. "What hissing?"

I was dumbfounded. I was awed. I was amazed. Even here, at Hogwarts, I was special. I was different. And I set out to find out how. I walked alone at night around the school, following the hissing wherever it went. But the problem seemed to be that the hissing was following me. I made no progress.

On the ninth night, I followed the hissing voice around the dungeon. It sometimes paced back and forth, and going was slow. It was already dawn, when the voice led me back into the Slytherin Common Room and into the boys' bathroom. I climbed onto the edge of the tub, and listened. The hissing came from the faucet over my head. I looked up, held my footing and stood underneath it. I listened again.

_Release me, my master, my lord, and I will serve you_.

At that moment, the bathroom's door opened, and entered my dorm mates, Nott, Mulciber, Dolohov and Rosier. They stopped dead as they saw me. Their mouths opened in shock, their jaws dropped in disbelief and their eyes widened in fear. It was _my_ moment. And I loved every second of it.

They later told me what they saw. I was levitating. The faucet spilled upon me silver streams of light, and I glowed an unearthly emerald. They were astonished, they were shocked and they trampled over each other to do my biddings ever since.

_Release me, my master, my lord, and I will serve you_, the hissing voice had asked of me. _Release me, my master, my lord_…_my master, my lord_…the title seduced me.

000

Borgin & Burkes looked as it did five years ago, when I first visited it. The usual décor of cobwebs and dust balls greeted me. Caractacus Burke looked up from behind the counter. He straightened. "Good afternoon, Tom."

"Afternoon, Mr. Burke."

"Can I help you with anything today?"

I nodded and walked to the counter's front. I placed my elbow carefully down on the countertop and leant forward. "How much do you know about Faust, Mr. Burke?"

Burke started. He looked at me blankly. "Faust?"

I nodded. Burke cleared his throat, and looked around the shop. "Ah, Faust, one of the most prominent dark wizards there ever was." He whispered dramatically. "Wrote quite a number of books, he did, about every kind of dark magic known to man."

I said nothing. I found out that much already. "Do you happen to have a copy of his _Zusammenrufen der Höllen Dämonen_?"

"_Are you mad_?" Burke screeched, taking a leaping step back.

"No." I replied carelessly. "I need it for a school assignment."

"What kind of assignment?" Burke narrowed his eyes.

"An essay for Advanced Defense Against Dark Arts."

Burke's soggy eyes peered into mine, and attempted Legimency. I sighed in annoyance. "I know what happened to Faust, Mr. Burke, very well, in fact."

Burke slowly nodded. "I know you're a bright boy, Tom. I can tell you got a gift in you. You knowledge of these artifacts here…" he swept his arm in indication of his store, "has proven that to me. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I'll have _Zusammenrufen_ ordered and sent you in two weeks time." He pulled out a thick yellow volume and opened it to a blank page. "The pay is in advance, of course."

"Naturally." I smirked. I know this old man too well. I don't even need Legimens to read his mind. It's all written on his face.

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	3. Riddle

**RIDDLEBOOK  
**

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**WARNING:**

**Contains some mature content. Reader's discretion is advised.**

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**RIDDLE**

Riddle, Riddle, Riddle.

Nothing.

No records of any Riddles anywhere. Not in Hogwart's old records, not in any history textbooks, nowhere. But I didn't give up. I refused to give up. I scorn the very word. I was, however, discouraged. I had another lead. I had my maternal grandfather's name, Marvolo.

It took me another dreadful and strenuous month, but finally, I found it. It was in an old _Daily Prophet _article reporting a deranged wizard's attack on a Muggle man: _Morfin Gaunt, son of Marvolo Gaunt_. Seeing as I could find any records of another Marvolo anywhere, I assumed this was the one.

It surprised me how quickly information flooded to me after that. The real evidence that genuinely convinced me was found in a yellowed clipping of the _Life and Times_ column from the _Prophet _about Salazar Slytherin, dating back to 1901: …_now, amongst the distant descendants to the great co-founder of Hogwarts are Haures, Danel, and Gaunt_.

Gaunt…it was only three months into my first year when I discovered that I was the heir of Slytherin.

000

Slughorn's Roman Masquerade was like any other party of his: elaborate and overrated. I sulked along the walls in my toga and mask. Nott and Rosier stood on either side of me. Imported white wine was being passed around in round bronze flasks. Slughorn claimed the wine was authentically Roman. I knew for a fact it was a popular Chinese export.

Colorful togas and robes swirled under the pink shimmering faerie lights. To everyone else, it looked majestic. To me it seemed eerie.

"Tom!" Slughorn waved his hand at us from halfway across the room. His gold bracelet brushed against the laurel wreath perched upon his head. "Join the party, Tom, and don't scowl so. You are the starring event of my party. Come, come, and let me introduce you around."

I lifted myself off the wall and strolled over to where he stood – beside the refreshment table. Slughorn beamed at me. "With this war going on, tension is high," he told me in a stage whisper. "People need something to help them relax, and that's what this is." He nodded in agreement with his own words. "Why, with Albus worrying about Grindlewald, we ought to know we're in good hands. I say this war is already over, and we won."

"Grindlewald?" I perked up.

"Oh, yes." Slughorn peeked behind him and turned to me. He leant close and whispered in my ear, "This is confidential information, Tom, but I trust you'll keep it in the bag…Dumbledore's been researching Grindlewald lately, and by accident, I saw a document he's come across…it was lying on his office desk, in the wide open you see." Slughorn lowered his voice further into a scarcely audible croak, "He suspect that Grindlewald has made a pact with a monster…a monster he named himself after – the monster Grendel."

Grendel.

_Amongst the recorded, there were Chobaliel, Hosampsich, Antares, Grendel, Baraqel, and their King, Mephostophiles._

Grendel was a demon, a descendant from the fratricidal Cain in the early times. I distinctively remember the passage from the Holy Book accounting the cursing damnation that marked Cain:

_What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground_

_And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand. Therefore, whoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold._

Grindlewald made a pact with the monster of Cain…he followed Faust's footsteps then. I was surprised that I hadn't discovered the link before. Reports of Grindlewald everywhere, I just never took much note. I knew he was a dark wizard of some kind, but I never connected him with the demon Grendel I read so much about.

"What would the purpose be, to make a pact with a devil I mean?" I asked.

Slughorn laughed. "All kinds of purposes, my boy, power, knowledge, and even eternal life," Slughorn's eyes flashed darkly. "Some say the monsters possess the summoner's body, some say they ride in the summoner's mind…whatever the truth, it isn't pleasant. Count yourself lucky for not knowing what purposes the pact serves, Tom. It's one of the darkest and most gruesome magicks invented in the hands of man."

"Why would such powerful and accommodating magic be considered dark?" I asked, uncomprehending, "Power and knowledge have been sought after for ages, yet here, in these demons, was the remedy all along. Why don't we use it? And the precious gift of eternal life…the possibilities of undertakings and privileges are infinite."

Slughorn's eyes flashed. "Do you not understand what a dealing with these demons could result in? Sure, there is a glamorous cloak to this erroneous body, but this cloak is translucent. The horrors and perverseness will eventually break free, mind it wasn't rightly restrained to begin with." Slughorn took a deep breath and paused. He examined me, his face serious. No part of my countenance, my expressions or my eyes, betrayed anything. Finally he looked away. Slowly shaking his head, he continued, "As for eternal life, Tom, do not regard it as a gift, a blessing. See it for what it really is – an accursed affliction, burdened by the most hideous of the creatures of the dark. It brings no privileges, only pain and agony. Grindlewald may not know it yet, but he had made a pact with Doom itself."

I knew to argue back would be crossing the sacred line that has been pulling all the vital advices and welcomed enlightenments out of between Slughorn's lips and into my heart. A subtle change of subject may repair the damage.

"What kind of pact had Grindlewald made?" I asked carelessly, while my ears quivered to catch Slughorn's response.

"Ah!" Slughorn sighed, "That is a mystery for us to find out when Dumbledore rids us of him." Slughorn picked up a wooden goblet from the table. "You see, my boy, Grindlewald made one little mistake – he kept a record of the monsters he summoned and done deals with. Records are evidences, Tom, and they are far more enduring than memories."

I closed my eyes quickly. His words made sense, they always do. I looked wearily sideward at my professor. He is a profound and well-read man, however cowardly and recreant.

"True," My eyes flickered up to Slughorn as I spoke. "Memories are ever-changing, weakening with the passage of time, and a pawn of our conscious minds."

Slughorn nodded, impressed. "Well said." He clapped my shoulder with his fig-stained hand, "And if you forget everything else we've discussed tonight, remember this: memories can be our summons to death or our window of life. It's all dependent on hands which takes them into hold." He winked gleefully at me and moved to speak with his other guests.

I thirsted to find out more. I could probe Slughorn further, but he is hard to predict indeed, one would never know if they'd crossed the line until too late. No matter, Faust's _Zusammenrufen_ will be arriving shortly.

I'll find out all I want to know there.

000

I belonged in Slytherin, the House of my forefather. I told no one that I was his heir. Why should I? This is my secret, and mine alone. The other children weren't stupid; they knew I was more deserving of the House than they are. They didn't know why, or how, but they knew enough to abide my biddings.

I had no idea what being the Slytherin's heir involved. That is, until I discovered an old, thin book of ballad, written shortly after the construction of Hogwarts. Its peeling letter revealed that it was a commemoration of the four founders. It contained a passage about the end of the founders' alliance, and especially Slytherin's legacy.

_In the clandestine walls he hid  
A secret the others couldn't rid.  
He christened it a chamber of  
Wickedly secret brutes, enough  
To rinse the school of all who are  
What he hails as infected mar.  
He leaves the school with parting words  
That warns the others of his curse,  
"Once my heir returns to this site  
He will unleash horrors of might,  
From this secret chamber it'll surge  
And all the tainted will be purged."_

From this one single passage, I had discovered the hissings I heard were from my noble primogenitor's 'horrors'. I was determined to fulfill his wish, and so I made it mine. For the next four years, I dedicated myself to this mission.

The _Book of Ballads_, in which I had found my first clue, was destroyed, along with many others of the like, after the opening of the Chamber. All evidences of it were burned, in fear of a reopening. Pointless tasks, now as I think of it. There was no amount of book burning that could prevent my brilliance in the reopening.

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	4. The Summoning

**RIDDLEBOOK  
**

* * *

**WARNING:**

**Contains some mature content. Reader's discretion is advised.**

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**THE SUMMONING**

The pentacles took me days to prepare and sketch. Some chalk lines had almost been entirely rubbed away due to my lack of leg space. The passage was too dark, but I couldn't risk a fire. I am willing to risk expulsion of seven Slytherins and myself, yet not a fire. I sometimes wondered if I should care more about others and myself. I couldn't. It's unnecessary. They are mere mortals. They will all litter the earth with their ashes one day. But I will be different. I am different. I am Lord Voldemort. I am immortal. I am a _god_. Gods cannot be mollified by ignominious death. It's undignified. Death is weakness, and death is defeat.

_Zusammenrufen der Höllen Dämonen_ lay in the inner circle of the pentacle. It arrived a week ago. The passage was dark and I can't see the summoning incantations printed upon it, but I don't need to. I have the entire book memorized, down to the last comma. It's only here in case of the inevitable. I don't know what that is yet, but just in case. I redrew my chalk lines again and checked for any mistakes. There weren't any, of course. There can't be. I took a deep breath and began the incantation.

The incantation was a full minute long and must be recited without any exchange of breath. It was in old German. I managed to subtly consult Professor Slughorn with some of the pronunciations while hiding my true intentions.

The incantation was done, and I wasn't yet out of breath. I had practiced it many, many times over.

Almost immediately, a snarling was heard. It sounded as if from far away, creeping closer and closer with every spitting syllable. I recognized some of the words to be Latin. I shuddered despite myself. The snarling ebbed away into hollow whispers. The passage turned cold. I saw frost lining the edges of the stones in the wall. My breath formed clouds and my hands shook. I had never experience this kind of fear before, and I was ashamed at the limits of my pathetic powers in comparison. The hunger I've always felt, this hunger of knowledge, deepened. Knowledge was infinite, and with it was linked power, which in its turn also becomes infinite. To gather and use the powers stored in the cosmos was incredible indeed, and this entity I've summoned has the key to this. I was famished. At this point I was willing to give anything, to do anything for this feast.

The hollow whispering encased me in my pentacle. The faraway voices murmured quietly.

"Look yonder at that moon-sick youth," laughed one bodiless voice. And another cried, "Art thou mad?" I didn't have an answer. _The demon pleasures in discomforting the summoner_, Faust had written. This is a test. I calmed myself.

"Listen here!" I said loudly, "And listen well. I've summoned you here, King of the Angels Fallen, to serve me, Heir of Slytherin, Lord Voldemort–"

"…And impatience's lover," snickered a small voice. A cannon of laughter erupted. I ignored the voices and stood still, my face a blank slate.

"Tell us," provoked one voice, "hast thou, young stripling, bared thy body to another? Hast thou been loved or be-loved? Hast thou guessed at a woman's flirting eyes? 'Tis these reasons why thou hast come to me in search of answers? I answer thee now: I brew no potions of love for mortals' offspring and share no secrets of lust for the pleasure of a young'un. So let me depart and I shan't brand thee with a devil's curse."

I smothered my flaring anger with a simple scowl. "I do not seek for your guidance in love, _demon_." The voices around me hissed. "I seek only for a service you can provide me with," my voice was silky, hiding my impatience. "Do my bidding."

A sudden, yellow fog erupted around the pentacle. It rushed to penetrate the protective circle with no avail. I now clearly see the margins of the protecting spell. It looked as if I was standing in a glass dome, outside of which gathered clouds of acid gold.

"_Baka_!" The demon snarled, its voice echoing again and again, vibrating off the walls of stone. The numb coldness now left the passage and I was immediately reminded of the inside of a furnace. The demon's wrath could not fade the protective powers, but I could feel his heat. The stone passage burned as if a million suns dwelt in it. To my smarting eyes, it seemed that the walls were glowing red and dripping sweat. "What fool dareth to summon Mephostophiles the King?"

"No fool," I answered, "but a daring Lord."

"That title thou doth proclaim upon thyself, 'tis pathetic," Mephostophiles spat. "Test me not, human. Or I take thy pentacle with me back to the burning oceans beyond the Red Gates, in the underside of the Palace of the Damned."

I paled. "_Stay_, King, and answer my questions." I continued without a break, willing myself to say all that I wish to and not subdue to the demon's threats. "I seek for knowledge beyond this world, and inhuman immortality to live for eternity. These requests should be no more than a speck of dust underneath your feet if you are half the King you have been mythed to be."

Mephostophiles let out a booming laugh. He spoke with soft tenderness. "Thy words are familiar in my ancient ears indeed. I had foolishly thought one disciplined mortal would discourage the others. How wrong was I? Heed my warning, boy, if thou knoweth what is good and right."

"Do not tempt me, Mephostophiles. I do not fear you." I said in a tone matching his. "Grant me what I wish and you shall go free."

Mephostophiles hissed. Thousands of voices accompanied him. "What do thou knoweth of knowledge and immortality? _What thou doth wish for is to be what I am_! For it is written: only those of the Three Spheres doth live in immortality and become blessed and cursed with knowing of the mortal world."

"You lie!" I cried, outraged. "I've read the Holy Book, and nowhere does it say that." I narrowed my eyes at the yellow clouds before me and sneered. "The knowledge of the mortal world I can gather on my own. The knowledge I seek is that of the universe and all that is infinite."

Mephostophiles's clouds swirled with a tornado-like speed, and a vision appeared before me. My pentacle was no longer in a dark passageway underneath Hogwarts. I was standing on stars, with my back to the sun. The moons of planets I've never seen before hovered over my head and the expanse of the universe was displayed before me. I was within the cosmos.

"Nothing is knowledge like thou hast imagined." Mephostophiles whispered in my ear, "Knowledge is a hindrance, a burden. Infinite knowledge doth destroy one's mind. If thou art human then knowledge beyond what thou doth know cannot be thy tool–"

"Then erase my human form."

"_Fool_!" Mephostophiles scoffed. "'Tis not what thou doth wish to know that is the question. The question is: what doth thou wish not to know? Humans art beings of nuisance, and full of corruptions. Even the most holy doth have with him the vileness of the unholy. How art thou so different? If I grant thy command, thou shall be driven to madness by thy knowing. Every horror of the human mind shall be unveiled, lying unclothed before thy naïve eyes."

The cosmos changed. The star forms were rearranged, explosions became of the stars at my feet and I was swirled to face the burning sun. I shut my eyes tight, or else I go blind. I knew, even without sound or sight that chaos had ensued.

I risked a question. "And immortality?"

"_That_," Mephostophiles boomed, "_is thy weakness_." I opened my eyes in surprise and fear. I was no longer exposed in the universe. I was in a city from antiquity. I was in a library. Scribes skittered around with arms full of books and pamphlets. A man sat with his back to me, seemingly writing something on a lengthy, rolled out scroll.

Mephostophiles blurred the library in the background and drew the pentacle closer to the seated man. "Death is the sole blessing still existent in this world from the ancient ages. Look hither; see this old librarian? He was a wizard. Doth thou recognize his lined leather face?"

I began to shake my head when I caught sight of the book lying open on the lines of the pentacle on the ground before me. My throat became dry. "…Faust," I whispered.

"Johann Faust, yes, 'tis him." Mephostophiles's voice soothed me. Quite suddenly a strong male voice washed over my protective walls and dripped into my ears. It took me a while to realize it was Faust's thoughts. He reminded himself of a seminar at dawn the next morning, thought of dinner with another wizard tonight, remembered a fantasy he had about the servant girl he saw in the market place, fretted over an overdue book, imagined himself cursing a colleague…

"Never a moment's peace," Mephostophiles said, "for an eternity."

I shrugged nonchalantly and immediately regretted it. Faust had written: _never display any movement of the body as an indication of thoughts_. _Demons may use such body language against the summoner._ I flushed red in anticipation of a rebellion. A moment passed, it didn't come. My heart slowed it's racing.

"I don't mind," I said.

Mephostophiles growled and the pentacle's edges turned red. I was submerged in a coverlet of the demon's fiery wrath again. Sweat dripped down my brows.

"_Explain unto me, boy, what is the point of living if thou knew the remedy to all_? Thy purpose would be lost and thy life's meaning forgotten. _Thou art a fool_!" Mephostophiles screamed.

I was deaf to his warnings. My eyes were set on my goal, fueled by my wild ambition. When I spoke again my voice shook more than I would have liked it to. "I want to make you a pact, Mephostophiles," I shouted over the deafening roars of ungodly fires. The demon clouds' swirling ceased. I could sense it weighing its options.

"Which pact?" The demon king hissed suddenly, making me jump. It took me a while to decipher his meaning. I shook my head curtly. "No pact that has been made before," I said. "I will make you a new pact."

"A new pact?" The demon hesitated. I continued, seeing this as my chance. "I shall free you from your fevered body and open for you the Red Gates of Hell if you ride on my shoulders and lend me your powers," I paused. "This for a period of three months."

The demon's many voices whispered to one another in ancient tongues. At my ear, a child-like chant began to wail:

"_From up on high in Father's House,  
Seraphim and Cherubim rouse  
A rebellion so perverse  
That to under-earth the Father curse  
The disobedient child,  
And down to the burning they filed.  
One by one the traitors stalk  
As the Three Spheres silently mock  
And gaily laughed as the punishment  
In-behind the Red Gates underwent…_"

The chant faded. And a woman's sobbing bobbled to the surface of the many lamenting screeches of the many demon voices. I understood that the pact was made and the deal was done. And by that I foolishly thought I had won.

000

The girls' restroom was always crowded. I never understood why females must empty their waste receptors in packs. I had to wait till after curfew to enter the restroom unhindered. I had my calculations on a scrap of parchment in my pocket. I didn't need it. I memorized it. But I took it with me in any case. I wanted to be sure.

It was the beginning months of my sixth year. I finished my research that summer and I had already investigated all other possible sites of which the Chamber might be located. But I saved this last site for last because I was almost wholly sure that this was it, that this was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. This was why I was not at all surprised when the Chamber opened for me. But my heart raced.

I followed the snake-like passageways, constantly reminding myself of its creator, my forefather, who had carved it all himself. This Chamber was his legacy and my inheritance. I felt a sense of total possession, and it overwhelmed me.

I followed the instructions of the Opening closely. I found the summoning runes at the head of the stone snake in the Chamber's centre. I removed from my belt the little blade I took from the potions room and placed it at my wrist. I set the back of my hand over the runes and lifted the blade.

Here it goes, I thought, my unclean blood, the blood of a half-muggle. I couldn't do it. I closed my eyes and tried again. But what if my blood isn't pure enough to open the Chamber and summon the monster of the deep, the horror my ancestor hid…what if I am not pure enough to command the monster? My doubts unnerved me.

My kneeling knees ached and my feet were numb. I tried to move into a sitting position, but my hand slipped. The smallest of pains traveled up my arm. A trickle of crimson dripped onto the runes. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. There I lay and wept. There I found the truth. There I realized that I was human, and therefore I was weak. It was there, as a muscular serpentine body coiled around me, cutting me with its scales, that I realized the limits of my power.

There I decided that I no longer wanted to be merely human.

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**A/N:**

The last part - part five (which is called 'HORCRUX') - will be coming soon.**  
**

This short story is my theory on how Voldemort turned out the way he did. Personally, I dont believe in a definite black and white world. In fact, most of the world is grey. Depending on how the light shines, the grey can be interpreted as white or black. The interpretations can vary from person to person. When you get to know a person really well you'll find that they are the way they are for a reason. It can be an event that occured in their life, it can be a person they had known, it can be _anything_. So basically, what I'm saying is: dont be so quick to judge - everyone has a good side and a bad side. Prince Charming isn't always Prince Charming, and the Big Bad Wolf can sometimes be the Little Riding Hood too.

"You know you've fully grown up when you're dead."

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	5. Horcrux

**RIDDLEBOOK**

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**WARNING: **

**Contains some mature content. Reader's discretion is advised. **

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**HORCRUX**

Slughorn was a coward and a _fool._ My anger burned me, and Mephostophiles did no soothing as he whispered into my ears. "Thy mentor hast no power, he hast no will. Come, come my boy, and allow_ I _to teach thee the way…"

My fury made its way to my stinging heart. My patience was at its end. If Slughorn refuse to tell me what I need to know I'll find out by myself, like I always do. Besides, the demon will help. "Fine," I said through gritted teeth, "fine. Help me create a Horcrux."

I first learnt of Horcruxes from Mephostophiles. I was eager to learn what it could do, too eager. Many a days I demanded to risk expulsion on both my followers' accounts and mine as I snuck off with the demon king as he showed me what a Horcrux could do. As the trips grew more frequent, I grew more impatient. I knew I was ready to make my own. But before that, I needed to complete my research. So I went to find Slughorn.

It was a mistake. I knew the moment the question slipped from between my lips. I regret trusting him. I shudder to think I placed my trust in anyone at all.

Mephostophiles told me that Horcruxes required sacrifices – sacrifices of life. "I can't just_ kill _a student," I hissed. "I'll be found out, besides, Dumbledore is already on me with his eagle eyes because of the Chamber–"

"Then use thine Chamber," Mephostophiles said, "The Basilisk hast not killed yet, thou hast not fulfilled thine ancestor's wishes yet. Use the Chamber, boy, use the Chamber."

And so the girl was killed.

"The Horcrux is painful to make. To rip one's soul is no child's play, boy." Mephostophiles warned me. I took no heed.

When the time came I was all but ready. I was indeed foolish.

Thousands of invisible blades tore at my skin, cutting into me, twisting, and then tearing me into pieces. A sour sort of liquid found itself into my mouth, burning me from the inside. I saw flames spread from my throat down to my fingers, legs, toes, and they surged back, with searing pain, to my heart.

I felt as if my heart exploded, shredded into millions of bloody bits. I felt the sourness of the liquid eating my flesh away, corrosive-material-like, shriveling me into a burnt twig. There were numerous areas on what remained of my skin that boiled and bubbled into angry red sores. They stung deep into the nerves. It was an indescribably painful sensation, as if someone had plunged a dagger into me and ripped my open, with my innards hanging out, frostbitten by the chills of the Chamber.

Where was Mephostophiles now?

I hated the demon.

At last I felt my soul lift from my body and as I looked up at its shimmering beauty I felt a twinge of regret. For that one second I wondered if it was too late to turn back. I saw it split. I heard something scream – a bloodcurdling sound of both tremendous pain and bottomless sorrow. I saw Mephostophiles ripping my soul. His claws gripping its fragility, puncturing holes into the shining beacon of everything I was.

I had died that very day.

000

The procedure left no visible scars on my body. But at times I could feel a tender spot where a sore had sprung, or a sudden pang as if on my body had been slashed open.

Summers later, immediately after my graduation, I made my way to Little Hangleton and found the pathetic wretch that was my uncle. By him, I found my way to the Riddle House.

I met my father and talked to him. I no longer remember the exact exchange, but I did remember the coarseness of his tone. It hurt me. His parents', my grandparents', snobbery irked me. A sudden rage coursed through me. And Mephostophiles added fuel to the fire as he whispered to me a possibility. "Allow me entrance into thy body and I shall purge these impertinent fools from thine sight. Make a second Horcrux through me and thy shall feel no pain."

With the sufferings of the last Horcrux still etched clear into my mind, I agreed. Right then and there I called Mephostophiles into my body.

"In that event, what hast become of Faust shall becometh of thou." Said the demon. To my horror, he possessed me.

In a way I achieved what I had always wanted. I was no longer human. But in the process I lost something very important to me. I lost freedom. The demon and I were forever trapped inside this physical world. I was forever enveloped in pain. I no longer performed evils, committed murders or waged wars for my personal gain – no, it was because I had to. It was because that was the demon's very last promise to me…

000

"_The one with the power  
To vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ...  
Born to those who have thrice defied him,  
Born as the seventh month dies ...  
And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal,  
But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ...  
And either must die at the hand of the other  
For neither can live while the other survives."_

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**A/N:**

Moral of the story? There's nothing more comforting on your death bed than knowing that you've lived a righteous life.

Thank you for reading. You got this far, might as well review.

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